


The End Is Here (We Gotta Get Away From Here)

by ArtsyDeath



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Complicated Relationships, Cunnilingus, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Female Neville Longbottom, Naked Female Clothed Male, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Possessive Voldemort, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-19 22:18:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18979459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyDeath/pseuds/ArtsyDeath
Summary: In a world where Harry Potter dies at the hands of his nemesis, his soul swallowed in an act of carnage, a handful of survivors count their days in a very changed world, living their lives out in a small house in the midst of nowhere.Neville tilts her head to the sky, watching the clouds, the sun in the sky, a whisper from a dangerous man imprinted on her very soul:”It could have been you.”-Or: Neville is tired, Tom is greedy and sometimes all you need is a taste of death to feel alive.





	1. An Offer

_”It could have been you.”_

Neville shoves trembling hands between her knees, clenching down on them as she leans forward, fumbling for breath in the aftermath of the nightmare, shirt sticky from sweat as she gasps quietly for breath, mindful of the other people in the small cramped house, afraid of waking them up, afraid of being seen-

Because she’s wet. Flushed with pleasure in the aftermath of the memory and-

Neville squeezes her eyes shut, a soft sob bubbling up before she catches it, clenching down hard to keep it trapped inside, forehead pushing down against her knees as she hunches into a tight ball.

_“It could have been you.”_

-

Neville is forced to come to terms with many things at the end of her seventh year.

The death of Harry James Potter, the shut-down of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry following a year of torture, of struggle against the Death Eaters stalking through the school in masquerade as teachers and then, finally, the complete and utter annihilation with little regard for the colour of the tie knotted around the necks of children.

Neville leans back against the house, just beside the stone steps leading into the living room, feeling the cool stones beneath her and watching the threading of a small spider spinning its web between her fingers, turning her hand obligingly to make sure the wind didn’t rustle it too much.

In front of her, around her, there’s nothing but yellow grass – the rise of trees far off in the distance, a single withered tree with a handful of dark red leaves just hanging on the only offered splash of colour.

It’s been nearly five years since they were forced to flee the school, a handful of students from all years and houses escaping blindly into the Forbidden Forest with a group of adults in pursuit.

They had spent nearly a week in a game of cat and mouse, picking off one-after-one until they managed to down Fenrir Greyback in a tangle of limbs and an enraged snarl before his neck snapped the entire way around beneath the palms of Ginny Weasley.

At that point there were some eight children left and two Death Eaters and they had done the smart thing and retreated.

One more had died before they managed to escape past the Dark Lord’s wards and another hung himself five weeks into the run.

What remained was just desperation without hope.

The spider weaves its web carefully, working from the middle and out in circle after circle, little legs moving to hook it in place, making sure everything was secure before moving on, an intricate kind of artful murder.

The porch door opens wide and Neville glances up, watching as the other girl jumps the last bit down, landing in a crouch before abruptly tipping back and onto her rump, legs stretching out, palms coming out to offer support behind her as she tilts her head up to bask in what little sun peered down from the dark clouds above them.

“Morning Gin.”

The redhead tips her head to the side, revealing a face with the entire left side scarred up badly, globe white and unseeing, head having to crane a good bit further to allow the brown eye to find her half-crouched beneath the window.

“Needed a break, huh?” Ginny comments and Neville grimaces in agreement.

Six children had survived the siege of Hogwarts. Through the year they had been joined by others, mostly muggleborns, many who came and went with the wind.

It had been the unspoken agreement to not turn anyone away but it did mean that they were stuck with the likes of the Robinson twins who spent a lot of time curled together in abject misery and then Liliana and Roger who took out their frustration in sex when they weren’t yelling at each other or at others.

Frustration, restlessness and fear that grew and grew in the face of hopelessness.

She feels very different from the Neville that had clung to the hope offered by a rumoured prophecy – her hope in Harry who had always seemed untouchable, surviving one danger after another until…

Until the Dark Lord had ripped not only his own soul but Harry’s soul out of his body, claiming them for himself as the Boy-Who-Lived crumpled empty eyed to the ground, and triumph shone in Voldemort’s red eyes as he opened his mouth wide and swallowed them both.

And then…

Neville feels the familiar itch for a smoke, for an illusion of comfort, but it’s been nearly two months since their last supply round and she’s not quite desperate enough to reach for the last one tucked beneath her ear.

They’re running out of food.

Once, that would have sent them both scrambling, reaching for plans and clever ideas on how to circumvent the Death Eaters.

But it’s hard to care when there’s nothing left to hope for and Neville breathes out, raising her hand up, watching the sun through the fine threads of the spider seated in a tiny ball of darkness in the very middle of its creation.

The Dark Lord had erected wards around the entirety of England, erasing it from the memory of muggles before killing those that still remained to give space for a new magical society.

Lucius Malfoy had been appointed Minister of Magic and Hogwarts eventually opened up with the entirety of its staff exchanged for something new and unrecognisable.

“Do you ever feel like we’re just counting the days to our death?” Ginny asks without looking at her.

Neville’s head hits the house behind her, wind rustling her short hair, hearing to the muffled noise of another argument from inside the walls of their safe house.

“You mean you don’t feel like it every day?” Neville asks wryly. “I think I genuinely wanted to kill myself when we were hosting Pansy Parkinson of all people. Lessen the trouble of it.”

“Yeah…” Ginny agrees with a sigh. “She was _loud._ ”

“Because you decided to fuck her,” Neville points out. “Everything was fine until you decided to make a project of her. After that she wouldn’t _leave._ ”

Parkinson’s blood hadn’t turned out to be very pure at all, in the end, and her muggleborn father had been publically executed, Pansy the only survivor only because Draco Malfoy had been among those sent out to bring her in.

“She was quite the screamer, wasn’t she?” Ginny muses, letting out a small huff. “Bloody hell I need to get laid if I’m looking back at that _fondly._ ”

“Not much to choose from,” Neville agrees with a twitch of her lips.

They had made an attempt once but it had been awkward and fumbling and in the end they had ended up in a laughing pile of naked cuddling with a mutual agreement never to repeat it.

“I should make a sign, put it on my back during our next food run.” Ginny raises her palm out in front of her. “USELESS LESBIAN LOOKING FOR BOOTY CALL. I’d make it pink – with sparkles. Lots of sparkles.”

“You’re a catastrophe,” Neville tells her. “You need at least a unicorn of two or you’ll never get anyone on the hook.”

“Nah,” Ginny denies. “Obviously I’m going to be _riding_ a unicorn. You know – really sell it in.”

They exchanged grins.

-

Fingers ghosting over her cheek, eyes like liquid blood glancing at her with a flicker of curiosity – wondering perhaps what they could have been as he leaned forward, inhaling the smell of her as she shivered, pressing harder against the stone.

Sweaty, blood dripping from her nose and ear, torn and bruised and barely standing.

 _“It could have been you,”_ he tells her, a ghost of a whisper against her ear. She remembers the scent of iron, the feel of his magic coiling around her, filling up her lungs as she breathed in.

And she remembers the press of his body against hers, so close that she could feel the warmth of it as he let out a low hum of vague interest. _“You could have been my equal.”_

_-_

Neville lashes out, a _bombarda_ exploding the ground between her and Ginny in a violent ripple that tears the asphalt right beneath the three Death Eaters at her friend's heels and Neville bares her teeth as another explosion follows, spines cracking, bodies splattering in a tumble of death even as ropes wraps around her.

Brown eyes meet, something desperate shining momentarily through the younger’s, and for a second Neville fears she’d do something foolish – a shout building in her throat - but it dies as Ginny snaps her jaw down tight and turns, boots echoing against the ground.

Neville have but a moment to feel relief before someone yanks at the other end of the rope around her and she finds herself with her feet yanked out from beneath her.

Her head hits the ground with a dull _smack_ without hands to catch her, unable to turn and take the brunt of it against her shoulder, and she hisses – snarling wordlessly as a face of black curls crams itself into her vision.

 _“Fuck,”_ Neville says with feeling and the grin that stretches in response is delighted. “Why,” she pushes out. “Did it have to be _you_?” It’s said with some exasperation beneath the anger, wincing as spidery fingers pats down against her head, smoothing back brown hair with sticky redness from the jagged wound at her temple bleeding heavily down her face.

“Don’t be like that my little troublemaker,” Bellatrix coos. “It was unavoidable,” the woman reassures her. “Just a matter of time, really.”

Neville huffs, grimacing as fingers tightened in her hair, making sure to tilt her head up, Bellatrix leaning in close enough that Neville could feel the warmth of her breath against her lips.

“You did good,” the Dark Witch says with an earnestness that Neville wants nothing to do with. “But now it’s sleepy time for the little one.” Her eyes glitter as she draws back and Neville barely has time to identify the dark wood of her wand before light flares out, drawing her under.

Her last thought is a befuddled _blue?_

-

“Ah.” Neville stares at the snake and the snake stares back, blinking heavy golden eyes. “Nice snake?” she tries carefully, pressing harder against the wall as Nagini’s tongue flickered out, something that might have been amusement shining in the depths of her gaze which was about ten times more eerie than it had any right to be.

Even knowing that Harry had been able to communicate with them didn’t make the awareness of it any more reassuring, hardly daring to move as heavy coils shifted against the ground, body rising up and shifting forward to slide over her shoulders to settle like an enormous draping scarf, tail flicking against her knee, tongue tickling against her ear to a tensing jaw.

“Why,” Neville wonders, staring into the room with some trepidation. “Am I alone in a room with Voldemort’s snake?” she asks the emptiness, the beating of her heart too loud in her ears.

She didn’t have her wand and she knew there was little she could do against the Dark Lord’s Familiar – she had witnessed Nagini swallow an entire grown man in a black and white photograph and if she was to pick a death _that_ wasn’t at the top of her list.

Shifting carefully she resigns herself to the wait, a curl of anxiety in her chest because this wasn’t what she’d anticipated upon capture.

 _Why didn’t she kill me?_ Neville wonders, swallowing as Nagini’s nose bumped up against the underside of her jaw. _They won – the resistance is just a handful of scared kids in an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere._

Neville blows out a breath, raising a hand to give Nagini a bump away from her throat only to find a smooth flat head sliding up against her palm, her fingers gliding down a glitter of dark scales with some fascination at the feel of the heavy muscles beneath her touch.

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.” The voice makes her jerk – eyes flying up to fixate on red as she freezes in Nagini’s grip, eyes carefully following the man as he closed the door behind him with a soft  _click._

A five year old memory and black and white photographs in faded newspapers make him no justice.

Tall, hair nearly completely black – a paleness to his skin that wasn’t the eerie chalkiness it had been before he swallowed Harry’s soul with magic that warped and changed him right in front of their very eyes.

 _“He looks like Tom Riddle,”_ Ginny had once told her. _“Just… older, you know?”_

Neville most certainly did not know but the sharpness and charm was something that didn’t belong to Lord Voldemort but what he had been before – an undeniable thing that had made more than one turn their back to them in an attempt to forget the horror of the war in desperate reach to convince themselves it _couldn’t have been that bad._

Neville had witnessed it first-hand, over and over, and it had reached a point where she couldn’t even be angry at them.

At least they were making an attempt at living again.

Neville was just counting the days.

“Why am I here?” Neville asks with trepidation, trapped beneath the man’s heavy Familiar, watching as he tugged leather gloves off his hands, depositing them aside before reaching for a carafe of amber liquid from a shelf, fingers dipping in to grasp two accompanying glasses.

“I would offer you wine,” the Dark Lord says as he sinks down in a plush red armchair and settles it all down on a low table beside him. “But I’m afraid we’re all out of the good kind and I’m not in the habit of partaking in something below my tastes.”

Neville stares at him a bit blankly. “I… see,” she says, not really seeing at all, half-wondering if she was having some sort of fever dream as red eyes glittered with amusement, a hiss leaving pale lips, coils shifting with some reluctance, the large snake making sure to drag against her palm until she was completely off her in a pool of dark scales.

Neville rises slowly and the Dark Lord gestures for the seat across him where she sinks down, watching as he pours for them both, not reaching out for her glass until the Dark Lord had swallowed a mouthful of his.

It was no guarantee, Neville knew, but…

It had been years since she had something as fine as Firewhisky and she’d _missed it._

The first swallow _burns_ but it’s an achingly good thing, her eyes closing as she swallows a second mouthful before catching herself, lowering it down, tongue swiping over her lip, eyes slowly prying open to find red eyes intent on her, chin resting in the palm of his hand, elbow against the armrest of his chair.

“Why,” Neville repeats slowly, aware of the slight buzz settling over her senses, “am I here and not dead?”

“You make me sound so unreasonable,” the Dark Lord murmurs, relaxed and unconcerned where he reclines, somehow managing to make the armchair look akin to a throne. “Is death the only thing you imagine I could offer you? I assure you there are much more pleasurable things to be shared.” There’s an invitation there but for reasons Neville cannot fathom and it makes a coil of anxiety curl low in her gut.

“You could have anyone you want,” Neville says carefully. “Why me?”

 _And why aren’t you saying no?_ her mind demands.

The Dark Lord must have noticed the same thing because his eyes shift into another sort of interest, sharpening as Neville tenses up.

“Why you indeed?” the Dark Lord murmurs, placing the glass aside as he leans forward, fingers entwining between the spread of his legs. “But oh, you already know the answer to that, don’t you?” There’s a knowing look in those eyes and Neville swallows, feels a low clench of want that shouldn’t be there as she takes another distracting sip of her whisky.

“Your second in command tortured my parents to insanity,” Neville forces out, grasping for hostility but finding only a numb sort of disbelief. “You’ve taken everything from me.”

“And now I offer to give you something new in its place,” Voldemort says and Neville feels her tongue dry at the inviting curl of his mouth. “But I am not interested in an unwilling partner,” the man says, spreading his hand out. “You are allowed to say no. I could have you returned to that little hut of yours before the end of the day.”

Neville stills.

“You _know_.”

“Of course I know,” the Dark Lord murmurs. “My magic touches everything in this country. Every last _inch_.”

Neville’s shoulder hunches as the man rises sharp and fluid, _dangerous_ , long fingers plucking the whisky glass from her grasp before she could offer protest and she finds herself tugged up, front pushed flush up against the other, inhaling sharply with his hand curled firmly around her bicep to steady her.

“Give me a month,” the Dark Lord says, loosening his grip, shifting to gently cradle her face, red eyes intent. “Give yourself some time to consider it." His magic curls around them, heady, filling her lungs as she breathes in. "And if you still want to say no at the end of it…” A roll of his shoulders.

 _I should be saying no,_ the thought registers distantly even as her eyes flicks over his, measuring the sincerity of his offer. “Two weeks,” she presses cautiously, watching amusement dip into his eyes, a thumb brushing against the corner of her mouth before he angled down, lips pressing against her cheek.

 _“A month,”_ he murmurs against her skin in a warm whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to make this a one-shot but I realized that it had to be a two-shot because there was just no way some ten/ish pages was gonna tidy this baby over. I got too fascinated by the possibilities of it and then I got involved and I found myself really enjoying writing the dynamic between these two and yeaaaaah, it kinda got out of hand from my first mental draft (like... with most things I write).
> 
> At first, when I was considering this pairing, I was contemplating Time Travel but then I scratched it because it didn't feel right and sorta shoved it into my doc for future consideration only to be bowled over with this when I sat down to work on something else entirely so here we are! 
> 
> It... happens. 
> 
> I think I've tagged up most stuff for the next chapter? But don't quote me on that. I won't be removing anything anyhow but I might add. I am not quite certain yet.
> 
> Artsy-death on tumblr if you want to swing by~ I know some of you like visuals so I threw up the inspo pic behind fem Neville under the tag "female neville longbottom".
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	2. Can You Hear Me?

_“It could have been you.”_

Neville sinks down beneath the water of the enormous pool, allowing warmth to seep against the sensitive skin of her lips, eyes opening to stare up at the ceiling through a spread of white bubbles.

_“You could have been my equal.”_

-

For all that it had been years since she was at home, lesson after lesson firmed into her very being by her stern grandma, there’s a part of her that remembers and she slips her arm into the Dark Lord’s – allowing him to guide her down the steps to the living room table where candles have been lit, food already waiting under preservations charms.

“Young Draco Malfoy told me that you do not partake in meat,” the Dark Lord murmurs as he guides her down, pushing the chair in with a lingering brush of fingers against her shoulder.

“He’s right,” Neville says slowly, staring at the pile of grilled mushrooms, the thick slice of eggplant, a pile of cold vegetables and some sort of grainy rice-like thing mixed up with it, only smaller. There’s sauce – a wine glass waiting to be filled in front of her.

There’s no seven forks and knives and plate after plate served with just a hint of a taste in a snobbish parade meant to embarrass those who did not know - just a hearty and pleasant meal.

“Red or white?” Voldemort asks, brushing over to bottles, and she requests the former, watching the ruby red liquid fill her glass half-way up before gently tipped up only to fill his glass in company.

A quick look at the Dark Lord’s plate reveals the same serving as he seats himself in a move far too elegant for a murderer of his capacity.

“I am not in the mood for pretence,” he says, fingers curling against the underside of his wine glass as he lifts it up. “Think of it as… a dinner between old friends.”

“Friends,” Neville repeats a bit numbly.

Red eyes watches her knowingly as she reaches for the knife and fork, a starved visage placed in front of a feast.

“Make sure you save space for desert,” he murmurs, watching the bob of her throat as she swallows.

-

_“It could have been you.”_

The world is in ruin around her, entire walls concaved, dead children littering the floors of the school where they were supposed to be safe.

Dreams and wants and desperation has shifted the picture to something else, a curl of a hand settling against the back of her neck, a thumb brushing over her ear.

Cowardly, useless Neville who can’t be trusted to remember anything – always stumbling and fumbling, belittled daily to laughter inside the walls of the potions classroom where dark eyes looks upon her without mercy or kindness, a sneer ready on his lips, cruelty painting her small.

The dream shifts and warps around her, becomes a press of lips against her cheek, eyes closing with a tremor.

_“We could have been equals.”_

-

She wakes up, pupils blown-wide, and it takes her a good few moments to realign her thoughts, breath hitching as she clenches down on nothing, hunching forward, skin prickling with warmth and want.

A hand sneaks down to touch against her underwear, finding them embarrassingly wet as she squeezes her eyes shut.

-

Neville stares at him where he sits reclined in the armchair, clad in a dark green button-up shirt that brings her mind to a dead boy, belt around his waist and black slacks. He’d removed his socks and shoes, a habit revealed when two weeks ticked towards the end of a third one.

Towel around her neck, a soft sleeping t-shirt and a pair of shorts – things found in the dresser inside her room besides sleeping gowns and button-up pyjamas.

“Can I stay here tonight?” The words echoes strange, as it spoken from someone else, but the voice is undeniably hers and she forces herself not to move as red eyes dart up to fixate on her, a lazy sort of body-language shifting into something else entirely as the book in his lap closed shut, palm spread against the cover.

“Have you decided whether you’re going to stay or no?” the Dark Lord asks after a moment, fingers brushing idly to remove some dust from the corner of the book with a sweep of his thumb.

She shakes her head.

“Then the answer is no,” he tells her simply.

-

Neville smooths out the half-crinkled cigarette, seated in the window, legs dangling out and down, the rain cold against the bare skin of her knees and half-way up her thighs before the roof stretched out enough to protect her from the worst of it.

Pushes the end into her mouth and snaps her fingers once. Twice. Gets a small flame going in the third in the curl of her half-closed hand and inhales, watching the glow catch against white, nicotine filling her lungs, easing the tension from her shoulders as she tips her head back and exhales.

_“Do you ever feel like we’re just counting the days to our death?”_

“I do,” she tells the memory, rain drumming against the brick walls of the old house.

“I _did_ ,” she admits, shame settling heavy on her heart.

-

Long fingers settles spider-like against the side of her face, angling it, eyes searching hers for but a moment before he was pushing forward and Neville inhales sharply at the press of lips against her own, mouth parting as she tilted her head to deepen it – one hand coming up to sink into the fabric of his shirt with a shudder.

A dark rumble is her response, tongue coiling around hers, domineering and overwhelming, gasping as he drew back. “Say it again,” he demands in a rush of warmth against her lips. _“Tell me.”_

“I-“ He’s intoxicating, frightening, and yet she wants him desperately. “I want- to stay here.”

Fingers grasp at her hair, yanking her head sharply back before he dove right back, swallowing a sharp noise of shock with a possessive growl, backing her towards the bed until the fold of her knees hit it and he pushes her back and into it, following, her body sinking into an impossible sort of softness.

Dark hunger glitters in the red of his eyes where he looms over her and Neville stares at him, wide-eyed and trembling from her own response.

“You surprise me,” the Dark Lord rumbles. “What an eager little thing I’ve found myself.” His palm strokes against her bare knee and she flushes, ashamed of her own response but unable to find any words to oppose him as he grasped at her thigh, shifting and pressing her down in the middle of the pillows before pushing forward, her legs spreading out on either side of his hips and her cheeks colours as he presses down, slotting up against the apex of her thighs with intent.

He’s hard. Erection straining against the dark fabric of his pants and Neville feels an answering wetness between her legs as he leans down, mouth sealing against her throat, her head tilting back to bare it further to a murmur of appreciation, his weight settling heavier, firmer, her pussy clenching down on nothing as the roughness of his pants dragged against her clit.

He draws back, yanking at her shirt until she got enough of her mental faculties back to drag it off, remembering too late that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath it, red eyes fixating on the pebbled nipples and mouth bending to drag a broad tongue up and over one before his mouth sealed over it, sucking languishly as red spread down her cheeks and a whimper escaped her, straining as he rocked almost lazily against her, one hand dipping down to grasp at her thigh as he worked against her.

He’a heavy. His mouth wet and warm, teeth scraping against her nipple, her chest heaving, arousal coiling tight through her as she reached out, hand sinking into dark hair, pressing him desperately closer as she rolled her back, hitching her hips up harder into the next thrust forward, feeling the way the bulge presses against her underwear with a noise of frustration only to arch hard when he pressed down firmer, grinding achingly against her core.   

He shifts, dragging off her breast, leaving it wet with saliva as he traded it for her other with a breath of deliberately cold air, her pussy squeezing down in response.

He’s radiating smugness when he draws back entirely, seated between the spread of her legs, a hand running against her thigh in a silent sort of appreciation. “You should see yourself,” he murmurs, mouth pressing against the inside of her knee before he wrapped an arm around her waist and hitched her high up and Neville grasps at the sheets as her legs fell over his shoulders, tightening against his spine and-

Neville’s back arches only to find herself pinned down, the first stroke of a thick tongue against her underwear followed by another and-

It’s good. It’s _really_ good.

The air reeks of his magic, a thick and heady thing that makes the hair on her arms rise in response and she rolls instinctively into his tongue, breath stuttering, heels pressing down against his back as he laps against her, slow and intent and sure, a static undercurrent as he dips down to stroke against the side of her folds, just beneath the edge of her underwear.

“Sh-“ Her back bows, head and shoulders pressing down against the bed as she rolls up against him. “Fu-ck-“

The teasing promise of what could be makes her claw at the bed, breath heaving her chest and toes coiling tense-“M- _more_ ,” she gasps and she can practically feel the reek of satisfaction from him as he pauses between her legs, the tip of his tongue rubbing teasingly up against her clit, waiting. _“Please,”_ she presses out through her teeth.

“Oh you had but to ask,” he promises, underwear unceremoniously yanked off, and Neville jerks at the first feel of his bare tongue dragging between her folds without anything to separate them, parting her labia and dragging flat against her entrance and all the way up over her clit to a sharp twitch and gasp.

Nothing could have prepared her for the feeling of having the Dark Lord pushing his tongue into her, forcing her entrance to open up, dragging up against the rough bundle of nerves to a shocked noise, her mind a mute white buzz at the strangeness of the entire situation, the intermingling shock of _I’m being eaten out by the Dark Lord_ is caught somewhere in the hysteria of it, fingers sinking into the covers, eyes wide on the ceiling as a helpless sort of noise leaves her and-

He presses into her hard and intent, tongue stroking and tasting, lapping up at the hood of her clit, sucking it in a low firm rhythmic hunger that makes her squirm before he trails back down and curls deep into her to taste the wetness, to press against her expanding walls as her arousal grew, letting him in deeper to a hunger that made him growl, hands tightening where he held her up against him.

There’s no pause, no soft build and Neville’s legs tightens, bowing up against him with a stuttered gasp as he forces her through her first orgasm, clenching down against the tongue twisting up inside her, wetness spilling against it, but it only made him press deeper and harder, flicking a swipe up against her entrance with a feline sort of satisfaction as he finally drew back, lips wet with her want.

“Good girl,” he praises her and she clenches down with a shiver at the roughness of his voice as he slowly eases her legs off his shoulders, pressing her back down against the bed.

He reaches for his belt and Neville watches as he works it open, not bothering to remove his pants as he works them open and down just enough to free his erection and for the first time there’s a feeling of ill-ease, anxiety settling low in her gut as his hand wraps around the broad girth of his cock, a heavy thing, thick and long and intimidating where she lies naked beneath him.

“Come here.”

It’s not a request – the words are firm, commanding, and Neville slowly eases herself up, shifting onto her knees, his hand curling beneath her chin to yank her up into a rough kiss, tongue coiling possessively around her own with a drag of teeth against her lower lip as he pulls back.

His hand slides up and into her hair, pushing her down to a curl of her back, the broad head pushing up against her mouth until she had no choice but to open wide, her jaw straining, aching to fit around it, saliva pooling in her mouth and sliding down the length as she chokes, eyes watering, straining to pull back only to find herself pushed further down, fed inch after resisting inch.

Her hands finds and grasps at his thighs, nails digging in, a muffled noise of desperate protest ignored as she gagged, struggling for breath as he filled her up, deeper and deeper, a fearful whine caught in a gag as she felt the head of his cock physically curl to spread down her throat, blocking any chance of air as her nose pressed up against the dark hair at the root of his cock.

“There we go,” the Dark Lord murmurs. “Such a good girl. _My_ good girl.” Neville’s pussy clenches down on nothing, a whimper as he slowly eased her back, just enough to allow a shuddering drag of air through her nose before he mashed her down, his hips hitching just enough to press all the deeper to a deep sigh of satisfaction.

The drag is rough, her jaw aching, and there’s little regard for her as he guides her up and down his length, keeping her still at the root for long moments, her vision hazing with white from lack of air, her throat constricting around him, unable to prevent the build of saliva in her mouth, spread too wide around him to make any attempt at swallowing it down as he fucked himself into her.

It’s slow. It’s painful. Her body limp, hands grasping weakly at his thighs as he praises her, pace slowly picking up, tears dripping down red cheeks as she gagged at the hard push against the back of her throat to a soothing promise that’d it’d soon be over and-

She feels his balls tighten against her chin, his cock burying deep to a curl down her throat, mouth gaping wide open and unable to do anything as he came with a desperate sort of groan, her throat swallowing convulsively around the sticky semen, whimpering at the feeling as jerks up against her, sighing softly before he slowly eased her all the way off her, her stomach churning but mouth opening willingly to the lips that presses up against hers.

Weak limbed, a strange muted sort of buzz in her mind, Neville finds herself guided down flat on her belly, his legs spreading out on either side of her thighs, a tongue pressing down flat against her spine to follow it all the way up to her neck with a drag against the tufts of hair there, quivering as he repeated it, gasping with a low noise as she coiled up against it.

He touches her sides, tickling against the stretchmarks on her hips, his cock resting limp against her rump but slowly hardening as the minute’s ticks by, his lips pressing against her neck, teeth nipping, tasting, hunger building as his hips pushed forward against her, cock sliding between her cheeks as she quivered beneath him.

She jerks at the sound of a cork, distantly aware that he’d sent her spiralling far deeper than she was used to as he tipped oil down between the spread of her cheeks and over his cock, working himself over with a slick sort of twist of his hand.

And then he’s guiding himself lower, the head of his cock dragging up against her back entrance with promise and her hands clenches white-knuckled against the bed, jerking forward in an attempt to get away from it only to find a palm pressing down flat against her lower back to keep her in place.

“That’s– that’s not what I agreed to–“ Neville gasps desperately as he dips forward with a promise in the way her tight ring pushes in the beginning of a spread around him before he draws back, rubbing down and between her cheeks.

But her protests are ignored and she groans into the pillow, tension and pain coiling her back into a knotted mess, elbows pressing down, a whine as he forces her to open up around him with an ache that makes her tremble, whimpering and gasping as she’s spread far too wide without preparation to ease him into her and-

 **“ _Tom._ ”** The name spills unbidden from her mouth as she feels the head of his cock settle inside of her and he jerks forward, sinking deeper into her.

 _“Yes,”_ he hisses, hands settling on her hips, forcing himself deeper into her with a hard roll of his hips. “Again,” he demands, bottomed out so deep into her that everything strains and hurts, fingers clawing against the bedding.

“Tom-“ she sobs and he drags out of her, pushing forward with the next desperate pleading of his name, groaning as he sunk into her heat, lips pressing down between her shoulder blades.

She strains to not clench down, terrified as he takes her with increasing forced and depth, skin slapping together in a wet sort of _smack_ and it _hurts_ because he’s too large, her body too small, trapped beneath his heavy weight as he takes her over and over again, spreading her wide, bottomed deep where no-one has ever taken her before, her hips rolling up desperately to get it over and done with-

“You should see yourself,” Tom says between one rough thrust and the other. “Should see how wide and pretty you spread for me.” He shoves forward with roughness, the drag raw and overwhelming. “How _desperate_ you are for me.”

He drags himself out of her abruptly, turning her over roughly as her mind struggles to catch up from the sudden change, red meeting brown, a whisper of a cleaning spell barely registering before he was forcing himself into her, spreading her pussy wide around him, pain exploding on her senses and back bowing with a cry as he grasped at her hips, yanking her all the way to the root, the head of his cock pushing up hard against her cervix, at the entrance to her womb.

He swells and Neville’s mind blanks at the feeling of warmth spilling into her, of semen filling her up, white and sticky and potent inside her unprotected walls and she trembles as his lips presses against her belly, sudden understanding lost in the shock of it as she gasps for breath, hardly daring to move where she lays as he rocks up and into her, still half-hard, hunger in the red of his eyes.

“Tom-“ If it’s a protest of a pleading whisper of his name Neville doesn’t know and he makes a soothing sort of no-nonsense noise before his lips presses down against her, softer now, letting her get a feel for it as he makes no move to pull out of her.

“You’ve always been the sort to be in way over your head, Nev,” the Dark Lord says with amusement and she stares up at him, wide-eyed, for those words are not the words of a mad man but-

“Har-“

 _“Sssh,”_ the man whispers, leaning in. “I quite prefer Tom these days,” he breathes against her lips, pushing forward, her pussy clenching down in response, dragging against the slowly hardening cock inside of her while his face angles, nuzzling against her neck.

“Wh-“ But the words won’t form, caught between the pain and discomfort as he swells, disbelief eating at her as his bare feet pushes down, rocking hard into her as she gasps, arching up, biting down to muffle a desperate sort of whimper and a tremble.

“I’ve always wondered,” he muses as he drags out of her before pushing back inside to a choked gasp. “What would have been had he chosen you on that Halloween night. But.” He drags a hand down her side. “Perhaps some things are better left unanswered.” His eyes glitter, cock scraping against her walls, everything raw and aching and overwhelming as he takes her, thrusting hard and firm into her body as she stares up at him a bit numbly, struggling to understand.

“Why-“

“Are you here?” he finishes, pushing flush against her, buried deep into her body, grinding achingly against her cervix. “You are ours,” he says with that familiar glint in his eyes. “It took a while to convince him but-“ A hard thrust. “Who else to carry our legacy but the third mentioned in the prophecy?”

His grin grows, grasping her thighs hard as he slams into her and her back bows with a muffled noise of shock, his thrusts growing shorter, harder, faster, seeking his own fulfilment inside of her as her face knots with discomfort and strange arousal, horror and fascination as she looks upon him between her legs, cock thick and hard and rough where he takes her.

“Ours,” he promises, grunting as he moulds himself tight against her, more semen filling her up. “All _ours._ ” His mouth catches her nipple, tongue rough and scraping against the pebbled flesh. “Do you know the prophecy?” he asks against her skin and she wonders if she’s imagining the flash of green amidst red. “Did Albus ever tell it to you in its entirety?”

“No,” she breathes and his grin grows bitter.

“Of course he didn’t,” the Dark Lord murmurs as he sinks down, flattening himself against her, his skin warm with a sheen of sweat. “Then let me tell it to you, once and for all,” he promises.

 _“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark them as his_ equal _, but they’ll have a power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”_ He trails off with a whisper, sighing against her neck with a lingering kiss before he pulls up and back from her, their lower bodies still pressed together, his thighs sliding under hers as he settles back to look at her, keeping them pressed together.

Neville finds her lower body elevated against him, is keenly aware of the lingering feel of his palm against her belly.

“The prophecy pointed to two children,” Tom murmurs. “Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom.” Fingers idly tracing. “It said we could not live while the other survived so we became something else.” Neville feels that brush of heady magic, all-consuming and alluring where it coils around them both. “We become something _more,_ something _new._ ” Their eyes meet as he leans forward, palm sliding up and over her ribs, palm stroking over her breast. “Harry Potter is dead,” he tells her with absolute faith. “But the Dark Lord lives, stronger than ever before, and _look at us._ ”

Mania and hunger, a body coiled with strength, a youth that wasn’t supposed to be there in the lack of lines on his face, Neville spread out naked beneath him, oil between her cheeks, still raw where’d he’d taken her, his cock still inside of her, semen thick and sticky where her walls clenches down.

 _“And the Dark Lord will mark them as his equal,”_ he says, heady and intent, glittering with intention as he drinks her in. “Let me claim you,” he begs, stroking his tongue up her sternum. “Become my equal, defy the chains of the prophecy and let us make it our _own_ ,” he whispers, claiming her lips, deepening it with hunger and possessiveness and then a sigh as he draws back.

She shouldn’t want it but she _does._ A ghostly yawn of emptiness inside of her, a craving to be something _more,_ and she rolls them over, straddling his hips, his body loose and expectant below her, hands settling on her hips in a caress as he looks upon her.

A tremble runs through her body.

“You want it,” he breathes knowingly. “You want it more than anything in the _world_. We see it in your eyes,” he murmurs. “You allowed us to push you far out of your comfort zone because you crave a place at our side.”

One of his hands slides down between her legs, the other urging her up as it coils up between her legs and she sinks down on three of his fingers, a quiver running through her body as he spreads her wide, magic tingling at the tips, preventing the semen from slipping out of her as he encourages her to set a slow and aching pace, lifting and falling against him as he drinks the sight of her, her palms flattening against his chest for better leverage as she grinds down against him.

“Just like that,” he encourages her with a dark rolling hunger as she squeezes tight around him, eyes falling shut and a whimper escaping her as he mashes his palm against her clit. “Come for us and we’ll make all your dreams come true,” he promises, palm tightening against her hip, guiding her into a firmer, rougher rhythm as her breathing picks up, nails digging into his flesh and-

Neville sinks down, spread on three of his fingers, clenching down tight as she comes with a jerk of her hips and she barely as he time to draw breath before he was yanking her down, teeth sinking in deep into the flesh of her neck and her eyes flies open, crying out as his magic flared around them, spiralling into her blood and filling her up as she slid into his lap as he pushed up, teeth sinking deeper, harder, his cock spreading her out between one breath and the other.

The world whitens around her, narrowing on the feel of him as he takes her brutally and impatiently, groaning into her skin, hammering against her cervix as if he could force himself through it before bottoming out and she jerks when he fills her up a third time, a tremble running through his body as he opens his mouth to a hiss as he flattens his tongue over the deep mark.

“Ours,” he promises her with a gentle nuzzle against her neck.

“Equals," Neville gasps, her soul constricting with magic not her own as he smiles against her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my defense I really like twists of all sorta and this kinda - wanted to be written. And I'm not really one to protest that. 
> 
> Fun short story, I don't really have anything more to say about that I guess? 
> 
> Artsy-death on tumblr if you're hanging about there and want to say hi~
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


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